Dudley's Daughter
by letterbomb98
Summary: Just a small one-shot of Dudley having a magical child.


**I'm supposed to be writing another fic but this popped in my head oops. One-Shot!**

Dudley Dursley knew the moment he first held his daughter that she'd be special. Like most parents do. He remembered the first time he held her. His wife was exhausted and overjoyed looking over his shoulder and he looked down into those pale, newborn eyes and saw a sparkle. He cradled her head, covered in a smattering of brunette locks, and let a smile grace his lips.

He and his wife lived a simple life. She ran a bookstore, and he worked at Grunnings. A chance meeting and coffee date later, they were hearing wedding bells. She woke up first and made breakfast while he showered, they went to work and he'd make dinner, they'd watch the telly then fall asleep together. They lived not twenty minutes from his mother and father. Convenient for a visit, but far enough for privacy.

Dudley didn't hold his normality as upmost importance like his parents, but he enjoyed his simple life.

When his daughter was three, she became attached to a particular stuffed dog. When her mother attempted to take the plushie in order to clean it, she didn't like this very much. She put up a fight like most children would. She screamed and cried, eyes puffy and face red. The picture on the wall fell to the floor.

Dudley never wanted his child to grow up spoiled like he did. He realized that it wasn't becoming of a child to grow up catered to on every whim. He also knew that he never wanted his child to live in want. He had also realized that form of neglect was extremely wrong. He tried not to linger around cupboards longer than necessary.

He liked to think he found a happy middle ground. His daughter had a reward system based on the books his wife would bring home, and he never failed to shower her with affection. He stayed away from too many terms of endearment, however.

When she was five, he was called from work to pick her up early from primary school. A schoolyard bully had taken her book away at recess. He tried not to think about how he'd done much the same when he was that age. When the bully refused to give it back and taunted her by holding it out of reach, she became angry. The bully was on his back ten feet away, wind knocked out of him, while she calmly picked her book back up and began reading again. She was sent home and received detention despite her protests of it not being her fault.

But Dudley knew better. He thought of messy hair and broken spectacles.

At six, she went through a phase where she wanted everything to be pink. When told that no, she couldn't paint her walls pink to match her new jumper, she threw a tantrum and the walls sported a new hue.

He thought of green eyes and a jagged scar.

At seven, she received exemplary marks and was taken out for a treat. Her ice cream bowl seemed to refill itself.

He thought of the time he chased the boy and watched him disappear and then reappear on the roof of the school.

At eight, she was told to sleep, but she wanted to continue reading her story. He took the book and told her she can read it in the morning. He'd just placed the story on the shelf in the sitting room when it went flying past him toward her room.

He thought of the time his mother tried to cut the boy's hair only for it to grow back the next day.

At nine, they were at his parents' celebrating Christmas. She walked over to her grandmother and held out her hand palm facing up and a lily grew. His mother began to cry. They weren't invited back.

He thought of the time the boy vanished the glass at the boa constrictor exhibit.

At ten, she held a letter in her hand, a wax seal holding the parchment closed.

He thought of Harry Potter.

She was ecstatic, and his wife was enthralled.

Dudley was scared.

He remembered the pig tail and the candy that made his tongue swell. His aunt expanding and floating away. The crackle in the air from the energy. How it felt to have a stick pointed in your face. He remembered the cold, and the absence of happiness that went with it. The dark figure looming over him. The dead fingers reaching for-

A train whistle blew. His daughter hugged him and turned to board the train. He and his wife stayed long after it had left. As they turned away, he thought he saw that messy, jet-black hair.

An owl came that night. She was a Ravenclaw. She mentioned a nice older boy named Albus that helped her with her trunk.

He pondered about what an odd name that was and why it was vaguely familiar.

When she came home from Christmas, she was met with warm hugs and declarations of how much she was missed. She told interesting tales of turning hay into needles and brewing concoctions and making things float in the air. As she talked, he noticed that sparkle in her eye, the same sparkle he saw when her first held her.

He wondered if those green eyes would have lit up half as much if he'd been allowed to speak of his own experiences.

As he put his daughter to bed that night he saw a book on her nightstand. Normally, he would have written it off as just another book she was reading, but something made him turn back and pick it up.

 _"The Life of Harry Potter: The Boy Who Conquered"_ By Rita Skeeter

He didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, he asked his daughter if he could borrow her owl.

He thought it was time to officially reconcile with his cousin.


End file.
